


BURN THE HOUSE DOWN

by AgnesClementine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Leonard Snart Lives, M/M, Post-Oculus (DC's Legends of Tomorrow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: He is wandering through the wasteland that the place had become after the explosion; all cracked concrete, dust and occasional small fire here and there. The buildings and their slick designs wiped off, leaving behind skeletons of smooth, obsidian-like matter and stainless steel. It’s haunting.**********AKA Len's plan doesn't go accordingly. But what else is new?





	BURN THE HOUSE DOWN

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this happened. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Len fucked up spectacularly. And there was no fixing that fuck-up. Those are the facts.

Another fact: Len had a plan; to die.

Things with Mick were never perfect, that would have been a ridiculous expectation that would bring them nothing but disappointment. But they were true, and most of the time, they were good. And Len wouldn’t have minded if things got to another level, but facts- again those pesky, goddamn facts- were that Mick needed a friend in this world, and God knows Len needed a friend in this world and… that was what they were. Friends. Mick and Len against the world.

And then Len fucked it all up.

He should have never accepted Hunter’s offer, but he was always a bastard who couldn’t pass up on an opportunity to steal something great. Something amazing. And time travel was full of those opportunities. But all it led him to was this. Failure. Fucking up.

And fucking up.

He was never supposed to get out of the brig alive. It wasn’t the plan.

But if there was one thing he could rarely predict, it was Mick. Mick, who he hurt in a way that deserves all the worst things in the world, and who didn’t kill Len. Even when that was the deal.

Another fact: so the plan failed.

Another fact: Len had one more.

Cooked up in the heat of the moment, but still a plan. And that one didn’t have Mick to change it. It only had Len, his guilt and Oculus.

He had a plan: to die.

Len looks around, takes in the debris and fire and the base of Oculus bleeding neon blue and staining his fingertips. He looks at the dark void of cosmos, and parts of the Vanishing point, broken off in the explosion and floating around like plastic bags in the ocean.

Another fact: so the plan failed.

“Fuck,” he says, but there’s no one to hear him.

  * ●●●●



There are no ships left on the Vanishing point (except for that one floating around, but he doesn’t see how he’d get to it) and no people either because, _well_. He gives himself three days to live (unless whatever’s holding this… _place_ stable craps out and runs out of air or the vacuum crushes him) and then he finds the rations.

He is wandering through the wasteland that the place had become after the explosion; all cracked concrete, dust and occasional small fire here and there. The buildings and their slick designs wiped off, leaving behind skeletons of smooth, obsidian-like matter and stainless steel. It’s haunting.

One of the buildings further away from the Oculus is mostly intact. It’s a low built construction, like storage or a small warehouse and Len finds that it’s housing enough rations to feed a, well, an army. His survival rate suddenly goes up- if he ignores the possibility of this place self-destructing, that is.

There’s no need for guarding the food, he’s pretty sure that dead people don’t need it. A side note: he has also noticed there’s not a single corpse here. It’s like a ghost town, like everyone just up and left. _Another creepy thing about all of this_ , he thinks. He can’t decide if it’s better or worse than being stuck in a timeless place with dozens of corpses littering the ground. Probably better.

Upon further wandering and investigating, he finds Time masters’ sleeping quarters (which are big rooms with luxurious beds, but otherwise sparsely decorated; an empty vase here and there, and a closet with their clothes ( _robes, all of it_ )), Time hunters’ sleeping quarters (which are considerably smaller and equally lacking in details and furniture) where he doesn’t stay long- the idea he might stumble upon Mick’s is turning his stomach uncomfortably- and the communal showers (which, they ditch normal clothes, but keep the communal showers? He’s just disappointed now).

All in all, he doesn’t have much to do once he explores the base of the Vanishing point (at least the part that isn’t floating around freely) and he hates it because the only thing left now is to think.

  * ●●●●



_It would have been better if he had just died_ , he decides after the third day while brushing his teeth. (He found a fabricator in the building housing Time masters’ bedrooms and it’s been a nice surprise.)

But, the fabricator couldn’t fabricate him a time ship. Parts, maybe- but Len knows fuck all about building a time ship. _Mick could figure it out_ , a voice tells him and, yeah, Mick could figure it out. The saddest thing is that Len would get on it even if he suspects Mick would sabotage it after everything that has happened.

  * ●●●●



Day five.

He finally gets the courage to step into the communal showers. He always hated getting naked in a space so open, so _public_ , but being stranded in a place that’s literally called the _Vanishing_ point is not an excuse for stinking. At least if you ask him.

So he got out of his clothes and got into one of the stalls, his cold gun within arm’s reach. He felt like someone’s watching him, like there’s an audience gathered behind his back and observing him with unwavering attention. He couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  * ●●●●



Day eight.

He goes back to the Oculus. The core is still alive, pulsing and pumping out gushes of nuclear blue, illuminating the space as it spreads out like roots or veins just underneath the skin. It’s warmer in here, he noticed, warm enough for him to feel the warmth on his cheeks, like when he’s standing in front of one of Mick’s fires. He stands at the entrance, watching it like it’s a breathing, living thing. But he can’t watch for too long, as the pressure builds behind his eyes and up his temples until they’re pulsing with his heartbeat. The headache doesn’t go away, so he fabricates some Ibuprofen and washes it down with a glass of scotch. Nice to know that, if it comes to it, he can drink himself to death.

  * ●●●●



Day 10.

He still has the feeling of being watched while showering- and other times too, but it’s when he’s showering that it’s most prominent.

He scrubs his hands over his face, letting the water pound over his head and shoulders just to _feel_ something. There’s no wind here, no rain, no snow, no thunder. Nothing. The next best thing is getting closer and further away from Oculus and taking in the change in the temperature. But being near the Oculus gives him a headache and the further away he gets, the more it feels like he’s sticking out like a sore thumb. The last living thing in a real ghost town. It feels like he doesn’t belong.

He sighs and tips his head back to feel the drops on his face, against his eyelids, and fumbles blindly to close the tap. As the last few drops fall, he opens his eyes and meets a pair of sickly grey ones. He jerks away-opening the tap again- from the skeletal face, skin pulled tightly over too sharp cheekbones and too strong eyebrow arches. The man in the robe observes him calmly, unmoving, but his eyes are wild; Len waits for him to lunge.

He never does, because as soon as Len dares to blink, he’s gone.

Len clamps a hand over his mouth and lets out a shuddering breath. _What in the fucking hell was that?_

He can’t get dressed and get out of there faster.

  * ●●●●



He doesn’t sleep particularly well after that. There’s always the prickling on the back of his neck, always the sense of being observed crawling over his skin with a ghost-like touch. Teasing him into paranoia and doubt.

The days pass, his internal clock being the only means of measurement. And he… he does nothing. Walks and watches. And thinks.

He thinks, and thinks and thinks and then thinks more. He tries manipulating himself; wanders through Time masters’ bedrooms, digs around, entertains the ideas and theories. Who were they? What were they like? Did they all lose their fucking minds to this place?

He manipulates and avoids, but it all comes down to the same thing. Every time.

He thinks about Mick.

  * ●●●●



Mick told him about the stars once, he remembers, lying on the ground in the middle of the wreckage of his making ( _he’s a destroyer, just like his father_ , a voice whispers) and staring out at the millions of stars twinkling in the darkness.

“Sun’s the closest star to us,” Mick told him.

Len, 19 and pretty drunk at the time, responded with, “Huh?”

He remembers Mick nodding seriously and pointing at the sky above them. “Seriously. It’s 150 million kilometers away from Earth. And don’t ask me how many miles that is ‘cause I’m too fucking drunk to do the math.”

There were no stars above Central City- Len remembers a rare occasion when one or two were visible- and that night was completely dark, except for the moon.

“Anyway, did you know Sun’s, like, dated to go out in 7 billion and something years? It’s gonna blow up like a balloon and eat Mercury and Venus, Earth too, probably. That kinda sucks.”

“We’re gonna be long dead by then, Mick.”

Mick had shrugged, then flashed him a grin, “I know. But I wanna see it. Imagine the fire, Lenny.”

Len lolls his head to the side, scanning over the grey concrete and dust, the stars shining like diamonds all around him. He wouldn’t mind a bit of fire right now.

  * ●●●●



He’s rummaging through the rations in the warehouse, looking for anything that’s not canned beans, or canned soup, or canned beef, or canned anything. He thinks he could die happy if he never again has to taste anything that came out of a can.

Well, he could die happy-ish.

After a thorough search, he finds a crate filled with cans of pineapple.

He takes five.

  * ●●●●



Day 18.

Sleep is an effort here. Either going to sleep or waking up. _Like he didn’t have trouble with that before he ended up being stuck here_.

Finding a pattern and then sticking to it even more of an effort. He never cared for that stuff; if it went too long since the last time he had some shut-eye, Mick always made sure to wrestle him onto a couch or into a bed so he can pass out.

The thing about being stuck on the Vanishing point is not only feeling like he’s being watched- it’s feeling like he’s being observed. He morbidly sees it like being a frog in the science class; ready to be cut open and picked out by amateur hands.

It doesn’t help that, when he opens his eyes that morning, Pilgrim is glaring at him, mere inches away from his face and screaming soundlessly, her face contorted into a savage snarl. He flinches away like he’s been burned, scrambling for his cold gun and firing at her. The beam goes straight through her, hitting the far wall, and she, unlike the peeping tom from the showers, lunges. Len, literally cornered, flattens himself against the wall, thinks hysterically, maybe his plan to die didn’t fail after all.

Pilgrim lurches forward, arms outstretched like she’s about to tear open his chest barehanded and fingers clenched like claws- and then she’s gone. Like a glitch in reality; she fades and she’s just gone.

  * ●●●●



Day 24.

He shaved his head yesterday. Which is not important in any way, but that’s been the highlight of his day, so it’s an honorary mention.

Today, he found a collection of thongs in one of Time masters’ bedrooms.

  * ●●●●



Day 27.

He’s found an equivalent of a garden here. It’s just some high, fancy looking weeds, but it’s the first sign of real, natural life. Well, potted life, sure, but still. He can’t see wires poking out of it, so he’s gonna count it as a win.

He’s walking down the path, feeling the dust from the explosion grinding under his boots and pretending the air is fresher and clears because of the plants.

And then he sees Mick.

He freezes, eyes trained on the broad shoulders he’d recognize anywhere and the bulk of his fireman’s attire. He hadn’t really seen him wearing it since they joined the Legends.

“Mick,” he says, shivering at how his voice echoes all around.

Mick doesn’t move.

“Mick,” he calls again. _What is he doing here?_

Mick turns and starts walking. Len takes half a step forward, for once not thinking and instead just watching.

And then he frowns.

Mick’s wearing the old attire, the one from before the fire. Then the new one. Len blinks and then Mick’s in civies; jeans, boots, Henley, jacket.

“What in the…?” He trails off. “Mick?”

Mick doesn’t respond, he’s looking at a point over Len’s right shoulder, his eyes holding an emotion Len can’t recognize. He doesn’t have his heat gun.

Len is so confused. What the fuck is happening here anymore?

Then Mick’s standing in front of him, reaching for Len’s face and leaning in- and Len has officially lost his mind. This place drove him insane.

Mick is not real. At least this one isn’t. He’s just, he’s another one of those Len saw here. A ghost. It implies that Mick is dead and, although Len held no hope of ever seeing him again, no hope of ever making things right between them, the thought guts him, hurts him more than the feeling of Oculus going off and setting his nerve endings on fire before freezing them and then rebuilding him from the pieces. Len might have been stuck here with no other living soul for a company for almost a month, but he never felt truly alone until now.

He can’t feel Mick, no warmth radiating from him, his hands on Len’s face and his lips on Len’s lips not even a light breeze. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them, Mick is gone.

Len finally cries.

  * ●●●●



Day 30.

He never went too close to the edge. After all, the view was no different from what he could see while standing in the middle of his semi-floating residence. All around him was dark nothingness speckled with stars and rocks and meteorites who knows how far away.

He opens his eyes and finds himself on the edge of the edge, the heels of his boots the only part of him still touching the solid ground and he topples backward with a start. He lands on his ass and scrambles backward until there are good two feet of space between him and the void. His heart is beating like a sledgehammer in his chest and his vision blackens for a moment.

God, this place is really going to kill him.

  * ●●●●



He finds a routine; wake up, shower, eat, walk around, nap, eat, walk around more, sleep, wake up, shower, eat, walk around, nap, eat, walk around more, sleep and so over and over again.

He tries to think as little as possible, but he never knew how to shut off his brain and this place is… _it’s something twisted_ , so he’s not surprised when he starts hearing voices.

He wakes up from the nap to shouting. It’s his name. ‘Leonard’. ‘Snart’. A very persistent ‘Len’. He tells himself it doesn’t sound like Mick because that’s just another knife in his chest.

He sighs, focuses on how the sound bounces from wall to wall- almost gently, barely audible- and gets up to stretch.

Taking a nap in the open is about as same as taking it in a closed space here. The only ones here are him and the Oculus and if Oculus was to kill him, well, Len doubts there’d be anything he could do about it.

He gets to the tips of his toes, arms stretched above his head and wriggles his fingers. Okay, the ground is not exactly the most comf-

“Len!” A shout splits the air, much closer than the others and Len turns to… to see Mick.

“Len!” He shouts again and starts running while Len stares. He blinks once, twice- Mick is still here, getting closer and closer. He’s scowling, hands fisted and if it is him- if he’s alive-

Len braces for a punch. He’s ready, he’s welcoming it. Mick has something to finish and it looks like he’s realized it as well.

Len is okay with it. It was the plan.

Mick doesn’t punch him. He doesn’t swear at him.

He hugs him.

Len clings to him, still expecting a punch. Mick’s probably only glad he didn’t return here for nothing.

“You fucking bastard,” Mick almost snarls into his ear, squeezing him so hard he can feel his ribs hurting. Maybe Mick’s trying to suffocate him. Unusual method, Len thinks hysterically, but whatever he wants.

“I know,” he tells him, squeezing back just as hard. Mick is alive.

Mick pulls back and takes a hold of his shoulders, “What the fuck were you thinking? That was- _God_ , I could strangle you right now.”

“You won’t?” Len asks numbly.

“What?” Mick frowns at him, opens his mouth to say something else and then seems to have a ‘fuck it’ moment. He grabs Len’s face and kisses him.

Len’s brain goes into “resetting. Standby” mode for all of two seconds before he starts kissing him back.

  * ●●●●



“Did you redecorate?”

A weary sigh.

“For the last time, I didn’t touch your room,” Mick mutters, his face shoved into the pillow.

Len takes another look around the room- there’s admittedly not much to look at, Len didn’t really bring everything he owns on the Waverider-, squirms closer to Mick and leans his head on his hand before sighing.

“What?” Mick asks slowly.

“I left my toothbrush there,” he says.

Mick snorts and then starts laughing. He slings his arm over Len’s back and pulls him in closer.

(They had A Talk- an honest to God talk- and it was concluded that Mick is still feeling pissed, Len is still feeling guilty, and they’re, ah, they’re doing this. They really are.)

“Of course you’d blow up a place before living there,” he says through laughter and kisses him.


End file.
